


Conference Call

by whitachi



Category: Gargoyles (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-24
Updated: 2018-10-24
Packaged: 2019-08-06 19:11:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16393511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whitachi/pseuds/whitachi
Summary: You know what, I wrote this five years ago straight up in the middle of Hurricane Sandy and posted it only to tumblr, but I've learned there's a dearth of Owen/Xanatos on AO3 so I'm posting it. Anyway, Owen tends to Xanatos while he's on a call.





	Conference Call

**Author's Note:**

  * For [serenityfails](https://archiveofourown.org/users/serenityfails/gifts).



“Yes,” Owen said into the phone, closing his eyes as Mitchell from the Australian office failed to cease talking. It was patently absurd that anyone could take that accent seriously. “Yes, of course. You’ll receive the fax in the morning. Yes, morning your time, sir, of course.”  
  
He heard Xanatos enter the room, of course; he could be subtle when he desired to be, but, even as a man of many desires, he had that particular one very rarely. “Yes,” Owen said again as he approached. He didn’t have to look to see the curve to his lips, that smirk – he could sense that expression with his eyes closed, from a separate room. “Yes, of course.”  
  
Xanatos sat on the edge of the desk closest to him, near enough that the outside of his thigh pressed into the armrest of his chair. He nudged at it a little, a faint schoolboy tease. “Who?” he said in a whisper.   
  
Owen mouthed the name ‘Mitchell,’ and Mr. Xanatos rolled his eyes. “No, sir, Mr. Xanatos is very aware,” he said.  
  
“Oh, am I?” Xanatos said in the same whisper, which Owen could only answer with a raise of his eyebrows. He nudged his armrest again, holding out one palm with wiggling fingers to indicate he wanted something.   
  
“No, of course not, sir,” Owen said, and when Xanatos frowned a little, he did his best to indicate with his eyes he meant it for the other end of the phoneline. Xanatos’ fingers dance in the air again, and Owen shifted the phone to his other hand and gave the nearer one over to Xanatos.  
  
“While I understand your concerns, Mr. Mitchell,” Owen said, as Xanatos brought his hand to rest over his groin, “I am certain you also understand the realities of time zones.” Owen curled his fingers inward to grasp Xanatos’ cock through fabric, feeling it swell and stiffen under his touch and hearing the slow, relishing intake of Xanatos’ breath.   
  
Xanatos gripped the ends of the desk with both hands and gave the armrest a little nudge with his thigh again, and Owen unfastened his belt quickly and deftly with one hand. “Mr. Xanatos is simply not available at the moment, Mr. Mitchell,” he said as he slid his hand within Xanatos’ clothes to wrap his fingers around his cock, gripping it just the way he knew suited him best. His eyes were fixed on the datebook in front of him, on the meetings and phone calls to be made the rest of the night and the next day, but he knew Xanatos was biting his lip. “He is a very busy man. You surely understand that.”  
  
Xanatos laughed a little, but it turned into a breathy noise, a gulped gasp as Owen stroked him. “No, sir, he values your input greatly.” He circled his thumb around the tip of Xanatos’ cock, the fleshy pad of it becoming slick before he slid it downward to tease around his foreskin, tugging it upwards as he knew he particularly enjoyed. “He greatly values the contributions of all employees.”   
  
Xanatos reached out to push his fingers through Owen’s hair, mussing it from its carefully combed state. Owen’s upper lip twitched as his eyes rolled back, and he stroked Xanatos faster, harder, rolling his fingers in the way that made his hips lift from the desk.   
  
Owen’s eyes lifted up to Xanatos’ face for just a split second, when he knew they would be closed. “As we both know, loyalty is always rewarded,” he said, and held his breath as Xanatos came into his hand with just one hard explosion of breath, and then nothing but silence as his body jerked.  
  
“Of course, Mr. Mitchell,” Owen said as he withdrew his hand from Xanatos’ trousers and left it palm up on the desk, messed and sticky for now. He looked up again at Xanatos to meet his eyes this time and see the smile of satisfaction on his face. He gave Owen a pat on the shoulder and hopped off the desk, fixing his clothes back into proper order. “I assure you, your concerns will be addressed.”  
  
“When I feel like it,” Xanatos said, and left the room the same way he came.  
  
“In the morning,” Owen said, and patiently waited for the phone call to end before he cleaned his hand.


End file.
